


Doors

by MissScorp



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: The jagged marks carved into the bottom of the white oak door caught his attention immediately. He knew exactly what those lines represented: secrets. The sort his daddy left on his back.





	Doors

The jagged marks carved into the bottom of the white oak door caught his attention immediately. He slowly lowered the PSE Fang 350 given to him by that Richard fella before he went and got himself killed, and counted the number of notches permanently etched into that piece of bloodstained wood.

_Forty-nine._

Daryl breathed out a soft curse as that numbertumbled around inside his head. Forty-nine carvings in the back of a bedroom door.

Forty-nine lines that represented one thing: _secrets_.

Silently, he acknowledged how those marks could stand for somethin' other than what he was thinking they did.

Days since the undead started to outnumber the living, number of people who died and turned, anything really.

However, he knew they didn't represent any of those things.

No, these marks were a _record_.

The kind a kid who got his ass beat on a regular basis tended to keep.

_Like I kept._

He shoved that thought aside as he crouched to trace a finger over one of the etchings.

Forty-nine notches.

One for every broken bone, torn ligament, pulled muscle, dislocated joint, belt mark, cigarette burn, black-eye, split lip or bloody nose.

Forty-nine reminders.

Each one made by a nail, piece of glass, pair of scissors or some other sorta sharp object.

He had always used the hunting knife Merle gave him for his eighth birthday.

Yeah, Daryl knew all about the secrets carved in the bottom of a bedroom door. Somewhere in Northern Georgia was a bedroom door with sixty marks carved into it.

Sixty notches.

One for every busted bone, dislocated or separated joint, muscle pull or tear, burn, welt, black-eye, split lip and bloody nose he had received.

Sixty reminders of there being consequences for breakin' the rules, talking back, pissin' someone off by doing some sorta bullshit.

Hell, coulda been ‘cause he breathed wrong or some bullshit.

Hadn't Negan reminded their dumb asses 'bout there being consequences when he took that damn bat of his to Glenn and Abraham?

Daryl felt his belly burn with anger and hatred. Underneath those emotions was a deep abiding ache for the friends, the brothers-in-arms he lost because of pride and stupidity mixing with his temper. 

_My fault_ , he thought. _It's all my damn fault._

He drew his hunting knife from its sheath and slowly started to carve a thin line into the white oak as guilt sat like a lead weight in his belly. When he was done, he sat back to admire his work.

The jagged little line was one more reminder of how much of a screwup he was, one more mark in the door to serve as testament of life having consequences, one more secret left to warn someone else about what can happen if they let themselves be stupid.

_Like I went stupid._

"Hey," he heard Rick call from the other side of the door. "You okay?"

"Mhm," he replied as he sheathed the knife and stood. "Gotta be."

He exited the room without looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! Hope life has been good to you!
> 
> This piece was written based on a prompt I found on Pinterest about the markings in a door. I thought it was something that fit Daryl perfectly. 
> 
> Please, if you like this piece, kudo it! Also, feel free to comment below if you liked the piece (or not). Take care, all!


End file.
